


A Moment of Respite

by s_hall1



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_hall1/pseuds/s_hall1
Summary: Lieutenant Laurence struggles under Captain Barstowe on the HMS Shorewise
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	A Moment of Respite

A shout woke him. Laurence sat bolt upright in his hammock. Heart thundering, he made his way out of the crew’s cabin and onto the deck. The sun had barely begun to rise. He felt as though he was emerging from a fog. Too little sustenance and too many days of standing double and triple watches had pressed him almost beyond his limits.

He swayed lightly on deck, feeling for all the world like a green landsman, though he had had his footing on ships since he was a boy. He forced himself to straighten and glance about the deck and over the side. No cause for alarm was immediately apparent. 

“What has happened?” he asked a passing crewman. “The captain,” the man says, his tanned face grave. “He has taken a turn for the worse.” He seemed deeply affected. The crew loved the captain for all his coarseness. He had proven his courage in battle time and time again. To those without a gentle background, he was fair, even as he was tough. However, Laurence seemed to bear the brunt of his displeasure. He acted as the scapegoat for every time the captain had been condescended to or scorned outright by a gentleman officer not within Captain Barstowe’s purview. 

“Oh,” Laurence said. “Has the doctor been called?” 

“Aye. He is with him now.” 

“Very well, Mr. Smith.” Laurence said, turning away. Glad for a moment to school his features, he cursed himself for his selfishness. How can he feel relieved at the thought of a man’s likely death when that man was such an asset to His Majesty’s Navy?

He headed to the galley, hoping to grab a ship’s biscuit and some water to steady himself before continuing to his duties. Captain Barstowe had stopped his grog ration a week into the journey for some perceived misstep. The cook, an older, fierce man missing an eye, glanced up at Laurence as he ducked into his domain. “What’s happened, then?” He demanded shortly. Laurence conveyed what he had heard, keeping his face even. 

The cook grunted, apparently unsurprised at the news. “Here, then.” He said, thrusting a cup at Laurence. Laurence was too muddled to even glance at the liquid before taking a sip. He froze at the taste of alcohol. The cook glanced his way and said, “Nevermind it then. Just this once. You look as pale as a sheet, you do.”

Laurence nodded gratefully, feeling unequal to any argument just this once. He finished the grog and a biscuit, and headed back above deck.

After another few hours, he was flagging again. The hot sun sapped his strength and forced him to stumble. He felt a hand on his elbow, steadying him. He looked up into the eyes of the first lieutenant, Mr. Wilson. “That’s enough, lad.” He said. “Go and rest for a little while. We will be having the funeral just before sunset, and you can rejoin us then.” 

“Sir?” Laurence asked, unable to hide his confusion. 

“Captain Barstowe has passed,” Lieutenant Wilson said. Laurence struggled to raise his head to look at Mr. Wilson, seeing now the gold epaulettes on his figure. 

“Go and rest.” Captain Wilson said, pushing him gently to the side where he could catch a handhold. “We will wake you when it is time.” But no one woke him for the service of Captain Barstowe, instead he was allowed to sleep peacefully for the first time in months.


End file.
